


Every Dog Has His Day

by trillian_jdc



Series: All Good Dogs [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Dogs, M/M, Mystrade is Magic, magical transformation, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:21:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24490462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillian_jdc/pseuds/trillian_jdc
Summary: Greg Lestrade is turned into a dog during an arrest gone wrong at a magic shop. Sherlock Holmes hides him at the safest place he knows: the home of his brother Mycroft.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes & Greg Lestrade
Series: All Good Dogs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1823848
Comments: 48
Kudos: 163
Collections: Mystrade Is Magic, Sherlock Author Showcase 2020





	1. Dog Day Afternoon

Once again, Sherlock Holmes owed Greg Lestrade for saving his life. At least, so he presumed, because the angry owner of the "crystal healing" shop certainly seemed to have murder in his eyes when he threw the noxious-smelling liquid at the detective. Normally, John would have stepped in front of him, but no one had thought fraudulent curses were enough of a case for the doctor to leave work. Lestrade had put himself between the subject and Sherlock in an attempt to calm the situation, so the detective inspector took the brunt of the attack. 

When hit, Greg blinked, rubbed his face, and slowly collapsed. Sherlock caught him, with Sergeant Donovan already phoning for an ambulance. It arrived quickly, and the crew loaded the unconscious police officer and rushed off to A&E. Donovan and Sherlock, in a rare team-up, advanced on the shop owner, demanding to know what he'd thrown on their friend, but he refused to say a word, even after being cuffed and arrested and confronted with Sherlock's angriest demands. 

The uneasy truce between the two investigators held, quietly, on the way to the hospital. Neither spoke, too worried for conversation. Upon arrival, a harried receptionist waved them towards an intake bed, but the curtained area was empty. It seemed DI Lestrade had disappeared. 

Donovan looked with narrowed eyes at Holmes. "There's no such thing as an invisibility potion, right?" she nervously asked. 

Sherlock scoffed. "There's no weight on that mattress, judging by the lack of impressions, no shoe marks on the floor, no floating objects or displacements. Even if someone had been able to concoct an elixir that would work on human tissue, shoe leather, and whatever synthetics Lestrade was wearing, we'd still have signs of his presence. All I see here out of the ordinary is..." Sherlock knelt and retrieved some fluff from the floor next to one of the cot's legs. "Dog hair?" 

The detective spun, coat flying, and began tracking, followed by the sergeant. The occasional paw print and fur tuft led him back outside, where a solid-looking, fluffy grey mutt cowered under a bench next to the hospital doors. Sherlock bent down, extending a hand to the frightened animal. 

"This is no time to make a pet friend, Sherlock," Donovan hissed at him. 

"Shouldn't you be booking the shop owner, Donovan? Trying to find out what had driven him to attack your boss? You've got much more to hold him on now, what with his assault on an officer." Sherlock was still looking under the bench, speaking over his shoulder while trying to coax the dog out. 

"Greg's my friend, and finding him is more important. We don't know what's happened to him or how hurt he is." Donovan's loyalty meant she wouldn't give up without a fight. 

"You have my word, Donovan, that Lestrade will be looked after. I know where to find him, and I won't let any harm come to him." Sherlock finally looked at her with the full power of his gaze as the Labrador-sized dog crept out of his hiding place. 

"Fine," she finally relented. She was determined but very few people could out-stubborn a Holmes. "I'll tell the hospital staff to notify me as soon as he's found. Don't make me regret this." 

As she departed, Sherlock turned his attention back to the dog, who finally came close enough to let the crouching man touch him. "I know this is unsettling, Greg." Sherlock curled his fingers around the dog's ears, petting and soothing him. "What's done can be undone. I need to take you somewhere safe. Then I'll return to the shop for samples of what you were dosed with. Will you come with me?" 

Sherlock hailed a cab, having no trouble convincing the driver that his "pet" would be well-behaved. He gave an address that wasn't Baker Street. 

* * *

Greg tried to make himself as small as possible, curling up on the floor of the cab and closing his eyes. It was difficult trying to maneuver four legs, not to mention all the smells! They'd driven him out of the hospital earlier. He'd been to A&E after arrests gone wrong too many times already in his life, many of which the madman in the car were responsible for, but this was the weirdest. 

Greg thought he heard Sherlock muttering into his mobile, but he was too tired and confused to hear what was said. Soon enough, the cab pulled up at the front door of a posh accommodation. Sherlock was quickly out of the car, holding the door open. "Come on, Lestrade, I've found you a place to stay and someone to look after you." 

* * *

Mycroft opened the door warily. When Sherlock had called to ask for his help in an investigation of "great personal importance", he had little idea what to expect. The only request so far had been for him to meet Sherlock at his house and to clear his calendar for the rest of the day. Given the surprise of Sherlock asking so directly for a favor, Mycroft quickly acquiesced, made the necessary arrangements, and headed home. 

He would never have expected to see Sherlock leading a large dog up the walk. Although of no particular breed, the animal was attractive, mottled dark and grey. It seemed dependable, a good choice for a family pet, although a bit hesitant. Something was off. The dog wasn't sick, but it wasn't as vigorous or energetic as it should have been. It seemed well-trained, though, as it stuck by Sherlock's side without any visible connection between the two. 

"This is your emergency, Sherlock? A new pet?" Mycroft, in full three-piece suit, leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. 

"Oh, much more than that, brother dear. It is essential to protect Gregory, and nowhere is safer than yours. Besides, you need something other than me to take care of." 

"Really, Sherlock, if you'd mentioned bringing an animal, I could have arranged for the proper supplies. Where have you left its collar and leash?" 

At the last word, the dog, which had been slinking behind Sherlock, stepped forward, planted his feet, and snarled, hackles raised. Mycroft took a step back at the display of teeth. "Is the beast safe?" 

"Quite safe, if you would trust him instead of threatening him." Sherlock crouched down, next to the dog, took the animal's head in his hands, and began speaking to it. "This is the safest place for you. You know my flat is inappropriate, and the fewer people who see you, the better." 

Sherlock looked up at his big brother, still standing in the doorway, and continued, much to the older man's surprise. "Mycroft really is all right at caring, once he lets you in. He'll tend to you while I do what I can to fix this." Sherlock stood up and patted the dog's head once. 

At that, the dog gave the posh man in the suit an appraising look up and down. He looked at Sherlock, gave a nod, wagged his tail, then turned and trotted into the house. Mycroft was flummoxed. "What have you done to that dog, brother mine?"

"He's very special, Mycroft. Take good care of him." Sherlock began walking away. "I'll return tomorrow with an update," he called over his shoulder as he departed. 

Mycroft re-entered his home, closing the door behind him. The dog was sitting patiently in the foyer, watching him. Mycroft approached warily, extending a hand to be sniffed. The dog butted it with his head, encouraging Mycroft to pet him, as his tail slowly thumped against the floor in rhythm. 

"Gregory, is it?" Sherlock had mentioned that name, which the dog seemed to respond to. Mycroft paused. Odd that Sherlock had named his pet after his Scotland Yard contact, particularly since Sherlock couldn't seem to remember the name when it was attached to the man. 

"As your host, even temporarily, I should introduce you to the place where you're staying. Kitchen first, I think. Please follow me." Mycroft led the dog to the back of the house, into a rather spartan grey room. He reached into a cabinet and took out a small bowl that he filled with water from the tap, then took a hand towel from a drawer. 

In a corner of the kitchen, he spread the towel on the floor, out of the way of foot traffic, and placed the full bowl on it. "May I offer you some refreshment, Gregory?" 

The dog lapped up a couple of swallows, then looked around. 

"I'm afraid there isn't much more of interest. I spend most of my time here in my office or bedroom." Mycroft wasn't sure why he was explaining himself to a dog, but it felt oddly comfortable and companionable to talk to him. The animal's big brown eyes looked at him with what felt like concern. Mycroft shook his head. He was being ridiculously imaginative. 

"I suppose I should find something to feed you." It was getting on to the evening, and Sherlock had said he wouldn't be back until the next day. "I obviously am not supplied for a dog, but I have some roast chicken you might like." 

The dog's tail wagged at that idea, so Mycroft opened the refrigerator, took out the leftovers, and put half of the meat in another bowl. He placed it next to the water bowl, but the dog just looked at him. 

"Aren't you hungry, Gregory?"

The dog looked at the bowl, then up at Mycroft, then with his head, pushed the bowl towards the man. 

"That's for you." Mycroft placed the bowl again on the towel, in response to which the dog again nudged it towards him. It didn't take Mycroft long to figure it out. "Oh! You want me to eat too. Very well." 

Mycroft took out some salad greens, then put the rest of the chicken on top with some almonds and dressing. Adding a napkin and silverware, he took the meal to a small table across the kitchen in a dining nook. Once he sat down, the dog nosed his dish across the floor until he was next to the table, then started eating. Mycroft chuckled and began on his dinner as well. 

* * *

After they finished their joint meal, Mycroft faced the issue of Gregory needing to go outside. They'd already established the lack of leash, which seemed to be a sore point for the dog, and Mycroft didn't have a fenced yard, either. The dog had demonstrated surprising intelligence, though, and seemed remarkably agreeable, most of the time. So after tidying the kitchen, Mycroft, wondering why this didn't seem more strange, again began a conversation with the animal. 

"Gregory, you should go outside, but I have nothing to restrain you. Will you promise not to run off?" 

The dog looked at him, listening, then nodded and gave a single soft woof. Mycroft mentally shrugged and believed him. "Very well, then." He placed a hand on the dog's head as they walked back to the front door, not sure which of them was more reassured by the gesture. 

Mycroft let Gregory out. The dog walked sedately behind a bush and lifted his leg before quickly returning to Mycroft's side. 

* * *

Back in the house, Mycroft wasn't sure what to do with himself. He didn't often have a free evening, and he wasn't sure how much attention Gregory would need. He didn't want any of his fine furnishings scratched or gnawed, but he also knew that it was the responsibility of a pet owner -- or in his case, a pet temporary guardian -- to remove temptation and provide better alternatives for an animal. 

But what would Gregory want to do? The two walked to the lounge, where Mycroft sat on the sofa and Gregory sat on the floor and they looked at each other. That couldn't take up all evening. Mycroft sighed, stood up, and fetched his laptop. When he returned, Gregory was stretched out on the sofa. 

"Off, Gregory!" Mycroft said sternly, to which Gregory, on his back with his head tipped back, looked at him adorably. "No, Gregory, I mean it." 

The dog curled himself up so that he was only taking up half the space and patted at the other cushion with one paw. Mycroft was impressed by how easily the dog had made himself at home, to the extent of inviting Mycroft to sit on his own sofa. Sighing again, the man settled himself in one corner and opened the computer. 

As Mycroft read, Gregory slowly inched himself forward until, in the middle of analyzing a strategy report, Mycroft surfaced from his thoughts to realize that the dog had his head on his thigh, and Mycroft had been gently running his hand through the fur on the back of Gregory's neck. This pet lark was surprisingly relaxing. 

* * *

Later that evening, Mycroft told Gregory to stay in the lounge while he fetched a blanket to make a dog bed, but the animal continued to ignore him. Gregory wouldn't let Mycroft out of his sight, no matter what Mycroft said to him. The dog followed him upstairs, and when Mycroft tried to guide him back downstairs, Gregory sat on his haunches, growled low, and refused to move. He didn't seem dangerous, just determined. 

Finally, as soon as Mycroft gave up and headed for his bedroom, Gregory trotted alongside, quietly. Perhaps it wouldn't be a terrible thing for the dog to sleep on the floor there, Mycroft convinced himself. The carpets were due for cleaning soon anyway. 

Mycroft took a spare blanket from the trunk at the foot of his king-size bed and arranged it on the floor in a corner of the room. "There, Gregory. I hope you will find that comfortable." 

As soon as the dog began pawing at the blanket, making a nest, Mycroft headed into his large, walk-in closet to change for bed. The dog promptly followed him, settling in the doorway with his head on his paws, watching him. 

Mycroft thought to himself that it was silly to feel nervous disrobing in front of a dog, but once he was down to shirt and trousers -- his jacket, waistcoat, braces, cufflinks, tie, and tie pin all removed and put away -- he found himself shyly facing away from Gregory's unblinking gaze. Particularly once the dog's tongue started lolling out of his mouth. He hoped Gregory wasn't drooling on the carpet. 

Once changed into pajamas, Mycroft visited the bathroom to finish preparing for bed, and Gregory returned to his blanket and began settling. In bed, mobile charging, lights extinguished, Mycroft was surprised to note how comforting it was to hear another creature's steady breathing. The slow snuffling had him dropping off quickly.


	2. A Dog's Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft enjoys Gregory's companionship, but he doesn't react well to finding out who the dog really is.

Mycroft had been dreaming of stroking a fur blanket when he realized he felt warmer than usual. Opening his eyes, he determined it was due to a substantial, furry bedmate. Gregory had apparently felt lonely during the night and climbed onto the bed, curling up next to Mycroft. His hand had been petting the dog's back. 

The weight next to him was reassuring, and Mycroft felt surprisingly good that something wanted to snuggle with him. It had been a long time, since Sherlock was a child, that he had cuddled in bed. He felt cared for, and it was making him a little teary. No wonder people did such ridiculous things for their pets. 

At the beep of Mycroft's mobile, Gregory raised his head briefly, then rolled over. He snuffled gently into Mycroft's side and flopped one paw over his torso. Mycroft smiled, ruffling behind Gregory's ears as his other hand reached for the phone. 

Sherlock must be familiar with his morning schedule, as a text had just arrived. Mycroft hoped to find out how much longer he was expected to care for Gregory. The dog was surprisingly congenial but still a disruption. 

On track. Keep G with you. A has prepared office. -SH

Apparently, Gregory was going to work with him today. 

"Time to awaken, Gregory," Mycroft spoke to the dog. "You're coming with me to the office, so I expect you to be well-mannered." Gregory whined a little and covered his face with his paws. Mycroft moved his arm to pull back the sheets, only to find himself covered. Gregory had draped himself over the man. The fur blanket of his dream wasn't far off. 

The dog was substantial but not too heavy, and Mycroft laughed at the silliness of being trapped by his pet. "Come now, Gregory," Mycroft said, pushing at him a little. Gregory looked back, bright-eyed, and suddenly licked at Mycroft's face. Mycroft brought his hands up to block the dog, who was now wide awake and playful, on his feet, tugging at Mycroft's pajama top with his teeth. Mycroft swatted gently at him, smiling. "Off, you beast!" 

Gregory rolled away and crouched on the bed, tail wagging. Mycroft, succumbing to his request to play, feinted at him, as Gregory dodged before darting in for another lick. After another couple of parries, Mycroft wrapped his arms around him and fell still, enjoying the solid presence of this unique creature, who placed his head over Mycroft's heart. Unfortunately, they couldn't stay like this all morning. 

"Now, Gregory, we really must prepare for the day. We'll have breakfast at work once we arrive." Mycroft patted his -- yes, his, he acknowledged to himself -- dog as he got out of bed. "Stay here while I change." Gregory snuggled back down into the rumpled covers and closed his eyes, tail sweeping slowly side to side, as Mycroft went to shower. 

* * *

While Mycroft's driver and office staff were slightly surprised at the presence of the large dog by his side, they knew better than to comment, and Gregory did an excellent job of ignoring any distractions. He trotted at Mycroft's side as if they were in a show ring, head up, eyes front. 

Inside the office, once alone, it was a different story. Gregory couldn't stay still. He swept around the room, sniffing every corner and nosing under the furniture. A text ahead of time meant that there was a selection of breakfast items waiting in Mycroft's office, heavy on the meats, but the smell of sausage and bacon and eggs didn't distract the dog until he'd checked out everything at his level and below. 

Then he returned to Mycroft's side, tail wagging as he sat down and looked up at the dishes of food. "All right, Gregory?" A soft woof was the response. "What shall we have, hmmm?" Mycroft put some of each item into a bowl for the dog and placed it next to the already situated water bowl his staff had prepared. Once again, the dog simply looked at him until Mycroft picked up a plate. "Yes, Gregory, I shall have a small selection myself." As soon as Gregory saw Mycroft sit down at his desk and begin his breakfast, the dog tucked in. 

It didn't take long for the pair to finish, after which Mycroft had everything cleared away. Once Mycroft settled in his desk chair, Gregory curled up at his feet, off to the side but as near as he could get without being a distraction. When Mycroft stopped to think about it, the dog seemed surprisingly aware of office etiquette and behavior. This became more obvious and useful later that afternoon when a truculent minister stopped by to berate Mycroft about a meaningless disagreement. 

The self-important politician wouldn't sit down, and when he started raising his voice and looming over Mycroft's desk, trying to use his bulk for intimidation, he was startled into silence by the sudden appearance of an angry canine. Gregory had quietly stood up from his position behind the desk, crept around its edge, and then launched himself between the minister and Mycroft, snapping his teeth and growling to back the obnoxious prat up. 

"Call off your hound, Holmes!" The politician tried to maintain the appearance of self-possession, but he was clearly rattled. 

"Gregory won't harm you, but it must be time for his daily constitutional." As soon as Mycroft started talking, Gregory sat down and closed his mouth. "So sorry to have to cut this discussion short. My position stands. Please make an appointment with my assistant the next time you need clarification." Mycroft stood and gestured the man towards the door. "Here, Gregory." The dog backed up, never taking his eyes from the now-trembling interloper, who exited quickly.

As soon as he was gone, Gregory turned towards Mycroft and dropped his head. He seemed to be expecting to be chastised. Instead, Mycroft took the dog's head in his hands, running his thumbs over his ears softly, and praised him. "You're such a good dog, Gregory, protecting me from annoyances and boors." Gregory's tail wagged, and his eyes closed. He seemed to enjoy Mycroft's touch. "I think this calls for a special treat. Go lie down, Gregory, while I wrap up a few matters so we can go home." Gregory woofed again and wandered over to the carpet, where he took a short nap. 

* * *

One of the items Mycroft wanted to check on was his brother's current investigation. Sherlock had said it should wrap up today, which meant giving Gregory back, an idea Mycroft was no longer quite so amiable towards. But Sherlock hadn't texted since the morning. 

On track, brother dear? -MH  
  
Ingredients harder to find than expected. Meet at yours after dinner. -SH

Ingredients? Sherlock was increasingly fanciful. But now he had a timeline. And he could indulge Gregory until then. 

* * *

Mycroft woke up Gregory with a full-body stroke down his back, then walked with him to the car. The groceries he'd requested were already loaded in the boot. 

Upon arriving home, Mycroft took the bags in. He removed his jacket and let the dog outside for a moment before they both returned to the kitchen. Gregory seemed eager, trotting around and nosing at the cabinets. Mycroft smiled at him and said, "You were such a good boy today, Gregory, I'm going to cook something special for us." He pulled two gorgeously marbled ribeyes out of the grocery bags. There were also mushrooms, spinach, garlic, and a good bottle of red wine. 

Mycroft started the grill element on the stovetop heating and seasoned his steak. While he chopped mushrooms and garlic, he chatted to Gregory about some of the decisions he had to make and thorny problems that had been on his mind. The dog couldn't answer, obviously, but he seemed to listen well. 

By the time the meal came together, Mycroft had new approaches determined that promised to be successful. He set on the table a plate for himself with a small bit of steak topped with mushrooms seared in red wine and a side of spinach sautéed with garlic. Most of the steak was roughly chopped and put in a bowl for Gregory. Mycroft raised a glass toward the dog, toasting him, and said "Dig in, my dear." Gregory raised a paw in response, then enjoyed the ribeye. 

* * *

They had finished their meal and were sitting together on the sofa, Gregory's head in Mycroft's lap, when Sherlock swept in. His movement checked as he saw the two, comfortable together. 

"Well, well, Mycroft. Seems a pet suits you." 

"Gregory is a well-behaved, charming companion, Sherlock. Which is how I know he's not your dog." 

"He's no one's dog, Mycroft. You might want to let him down on the floor." At Sherlock's words, Gregory sat up and jumped off the sofa. Sherlock then spoke to the animal. "I have the antidote, Greg. It took longer than expected to find the right spell in that cluttered shop." 

At mention of "Greg", Mycroft stiffened, but when Sherlock said "spell", he bolted to his feet. "What have you kept from me, Sherlock?" he forced out through gritted teeth. 

Sherlock was ignoring his brother in favor of guiding the dog to a clear space in the room. He took a vial out of his coat pocket, muttered a few words, and sprinkled the liquid over the animal. 

Within minutes, where the dog had been, there was a familiar-looking grey-haired man sitting on the floor, wearing the same clothes he'd "disappeared" in. Greg Lestrade looked up at the brothers and bashfully grinned. "Hi, Mycroft. Thanks for the fix, Sherlock. Nice to have thumbs again." 

Mycroft whirled on his brother, practically vibrating with anger. "How dare you not tell me who he was! The security breaches! The **personal** violations!" 

"You dog, Mycroft. How friendly did you get with your pet?" Sherlock was goading him. As he picked himself off the floor, Greg sighed. He had had hopes that this would go better, after Sherlock's kind words yesterday, but the detective still hadn't mastered thinking before he spoke, particularly during emotional moments, and he enjoyed being clever much too much. 

He stepped between the two, facing Sherlock. "Mycroft's right. You shoulda told him who I was. I'll talk to you tomorrow about this case, yeah?" As he spoke, he walked forward, backing Sherlock out of the room. Thankfully, as he left, he kept further thoughts to himself. Once Greg heard the front door slamming, he turned, but Mycroft had bolted. This was going to be complicated.


	3. Dog Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has an unusual idea for reconciling Mycroft and Greg.

There were times, over the next few days, that Greg wished he'd stayed a dog a while longer. He hadn't had all of his human mind and consciousness during that time, but there had been compensations.

Animals didn't have to listen to all the same jokes from co-workers, who thought they were being funny when they drew attention to Greg's recent change by tossing bone-shaped collar tags on his desk. Animals didn't have to file paperwork to cover job absences, even for work-related reasons, nor did they have to catch up on the many mind-numbing tasks from when they were absent, even for a day.

Most importantly, when Greg was a dog, Mycroft was still talking to him. That evening, after Sherlock changed him back, Mycroft had hidden behind the firmly closed door of his bedroom, refusing to respond. Despite his pleas for them to talk, Greg had no answer until finally, a security goon had escorted him from the premises, ever so politely, and driven him home.

Two days later, a firmly worded, highly impersonal letter had arrived at his office, reminding Greg that any information he might have been exposed to during his unfortunate situation should be considered highly confidential, with an alarming list of potential penalties should he contravene this responsibility. Greg had attempted to text the contact number he had for Mycroft, to reassure him that he got the message and his secrets were safe, but there was no response, not even an indication it had been received.

The case that had caused his problems had been processed while he was out, with the wheels of justice churning it through as usual. Which meant no need to see Sherlock, which was better for both of them, since Greg wasn't sure how civilized he'd be able to remain in the younger brother's presence. Even before his stint as "man's best friend", Greg had valued loyalty and caring, which meant he often had no idea how or why Sherlock could be so hostile to his brother. Sherlock had tried to take good care of him when he needed it, so he knew he had potential, but it was just too hard to think about.

* * *

Sherlock seemed to have figured out something was wrong, since Greg finally heard from him a few days later, and the message was uncharacteristically polite and thoughtful.

All good, Lestrade? No side effects? -SH  
  
Fine. Good to be back.  
  
I miss the simple dog's life when it comes to paperwork.  
  
How's Mycroft?  
  
No idea. No contact was wanted. -SH

Greg wasn't sure whether Sherlock meant he didn't want to see his brother, or his brother didn't want to see him, which he knew was true.

Has anyone seen him?  
  
You did a number on him. Hope he's ok.

It took an unusual few minutes before Sherlock responded.

I may have miscalculated. -SH

Greg had no idea how to respond to Sherlock's rare admission of a mistake. He found the whole thing worrying, beyond his own wish for Mycroft to be willing to see him again.

What should you do about it?

The text conversation ended there. Greg figured he'd pushed too hard, since Sherlock already felt some kind of remorse for his actions.

* * *

The next time Sherlock made contact was a complete surprise. He showed up at Greg's flat the following evening, Friday, with another dog in tow. This one was a lanky, ginger greyhound, skittish and shivering, wrapped in a grey flannel dog coat. And he was leashed, since it was clear that otherwise he'd have bolted.

"Lestrade, I need you to take charge of Mike." Sherlock pronounced, handing over the lead.

"Sherlock, what have you done now? I've enough of dogs lately," Greg grumbled.

The taller man refused to meet his eyes. He made a little coughing sound, then muttered "Turnabout is fair play."

Greg's eyes widened. "Christ, Sherlock, tell me you didn't... they'll have scrambled the Marines! You can't interfere with your brother's life like that!"

The dog looked from one to the other, moving his head back and forth restlessly.

Sherlock shrugged. "You can't do multiple changes safely in the same day. I'll put him back tomorrow. Until then, he can't avoid you. Isn't that what you wanted?"

Greg buried his face in his free hand. "No, Sherlock, I did not want you to put Mycroft through a potentially dangerous magical transformation just to make him listen to me. And us talking about him as if he wasn't here isn't helping. I expect you back here first thing to remedy this, right?"

Greg turned his back, still wondering what kind of logic made sense to the younger man, and crouched down to Mycroft's level. "I'm really sorry, Mycroft. We'll get you back as soon as possible. Until then, I can at least give you a warm place to sleep." He unbuckled and removed the dog's collar. "If you're willing. I won't make you." He handed the leash back to Sherlock.

Greg stood up and opened the door to the flat. "Will you come in?"

Mycroft raised his head, every inch the haughty hound, and padded through the door. Greg followed and closed it, leaving Sherlock outside.

* * *

Once inside, Greg resolved to be as practical as possible. He'd already tried apologizing; if he continued, it would likely make Mycroft more self-conscious. Instead, he'd focus on the basics, food, shelter, sleep.

He prepared a water bowl, as Mycroft had for him, then showed the dog the main rooms: kitchen, lounge, bedroom. It was a cozy place, with not much space needed for one man who wasn't there as often as he'd like to be. Mycroft hadn't moved much, taking in everything through his expressive eyes.

Right, then. Time to calm him down and make him comfortable. "I don't have much in, Mycroft, but I could order some Italian. You might like their meatballs, and they'll also have chicken. Maybe with a bit of plain pasta." The dog cocked his head, thoughtfully, then nodded.

"Great," Greg said, as he gestured towards the couch. "I can get you a blanket, although you've got that wrap on, too. Do you want it off?" Mycroft backed away from Greg at that. "That's a no, then. Feel free to sit on the sofa. I'll be there as soon as I place this order."

Greg felt as though he was talking more than normal, but the chatter helped fill an otherwise awkward silence. He turned on the television news, which might give Mycroft something else to think about, while they waited for dinner. The dog's long legs sprawled in ungainly fashion over the sofa, while Greg sat in a separate armchair, not wishing to crowd Mycroft, reserved and aloof even as an animal.

* * *

Dinner was perfunctory, but at least they both got some food in them. All too soon, there was no other reason to kill time, and Greg needed his sleep. He wasn't looking forward to convincing Mycroft, but he had to try. He crouched in front of the sofa, where Mycroft appeared to have taken up permanent residence.

"I know you won't like this idea, Mycroft, but I think you should sleep on my bed. I don't have enough blankets to be sure you won't get chilled at night. You don't fit well on the sofa, with all that leg, and well, we've already shared a bed once."

Greg was astounded at how expertly, even as a dog, Mycroft radiated disdain, but he gamely pressed on. "I promise you, Mycroft, as soon as all this is over, you won't ever have to deal with me again, if you don't want to." Greg hoped that wasn't the case, but making Mycroft more relaxed was the important thing. "I've already told you you don't have to worry about me saying anything. But for now, I need to take care of you."

Greg gingerly reached out a hand to the back of Mycroft's head, slowly patting him. When that wasn't loudly objected to, he added a few scritches behind his ears. Mycroft's eyes slowly closed.

"Ah, nah, come on now. Not here." Greg guided Mycroft gently to his feet, then into the bedroom. Greg took the wrap off the dog as he said, "You can't sleep in that coat. The buckles will scratch your lovely skin. Go on, up now. It'll be better in the morning."

Mycroft gracefully arranged himself on the bed and again closed his eyes. Greg got himself ready, in t-shirt and sleep pants, then slipped beneath the sheets. Lying on his side, turned toward his bedmate, he tucked one bent arm under his pillow. He rested his other hand on Mycroft's shoulder and drifted off. He hoped his reassuring words would turn out to be true.

* * *

Greg had been right about the temperature. He woke in the dark hours with a shivering Mycroft tucked up against his back. He pulled the blanket from the foot of the bed over them both and reached back, gently patting Mycroft on his flank until his body stilled.

When next he woke, he was the only one in the bed. Trying to avoid panicking, he walked into the main room only to see the greyhound perched on his sofa, posed like a sphinx, and watching the morning news. Leave it to Mycroft to figure out how to gather information, even in altered form. All he needed was a pair of specs on his long nose.

Greg lounged in the doorway and stifled a laugh at the image, which caused the dog's head to whip around to observe him. Seeing Greg's amusement, Mycroft cringed, curling himself into a smaller space on the sofa, putting his paws over his eyes. Greg hurried over to reassure him. Sitting in the space he'd left, Greg began petting him, saying, "No, no, you're brilliant. So smart of you to figure that out." Mycroft seemed so tired, all Greg wanted was to reassure him.

After a few moments, Mycroft tentatively snuck his head forward, seeking more touch. Greg was happy to oblige, running his hands up and down the sleek body. He began talking softly to the still-skittish creature.

"You can trust me, Mycroft. You did such a good job taking care of me when I needed you. So caring, and so kind to me. I want to do the same for you. Even when you're back. We don't know each other, not yet, but I know there's more to you than Sherlock says. I'd like to find out what you like, what you want, what you need."

Greg paused for a moment. Hunh. He was talking, and Mycroft was listening. Maybe Sherlock **had** been right. Nah, that was the wrong thing to consider. He didn't want to risk Mycroft thinking he was on anyone's side but his.

Just then, he heard a knock at his door, followed by the sound of scraping at the lock. Sherlock was here, then. He knew he shouldn't have thought about him.

* * *

Sherlock strode into the room with a glare at its inhabitants. "I am here, as ordered, Lestrade," he spat out. Mycroft raised his head and growled at him.

"Can you change him back?" Greg wanted to confirm Sherlock's intentions.

"If he's ready," Sherlock confirmed.

The dog hopped off the sofa and stood in the middle of the room. Sherlock muttered, sprinkled, and was almost out the door by the time Mycroft had reappeared. Probably just as well, Greg thought, since he'd been so helpful last time.

Greg held out a hand to help Mycroft up but didn't want to let go once he was standing. Mycroft was already turning away, ready to leave again.

"Not so fast, please, Mycroft? At least tell me this time if you plan to ignore me. I won't waste my time worrying if that's the case."

Mycroft reluctantly turned back to face Greg. "Why would you worry about me? I'm sure there are many better things that could occupy your time."

"Maybe. But now we're two people who've survived a unique experience."

"We were already that, Lestrade. I had hoped that he had finally given up trying to experiment on me, but I have recently been tormented by my brother in a new and unpredictable way. We both already knew what it was to put up with his schemes and survive his ingratitude."

"And you don't think that's something to build on?" Greg dropped Mycroft's hand and held his up in front of him. "Fine, fine, I'll let it go. Do you need to call a car or anything?"

Mycroft stopped to evaluate, face going blank and eyes blinking. This man had been nothing but considerate to him, no matter which form either of them were in. He'd put Mycroft's needs first, and Greg didn't expect anything in return, a rare state for anyone who interacted with Mycroft. And he'd frozen him out. How unjustified. How ungrateful.

The new realization hit Mycroft hard. And now he'd left Greg wondering once again. "I find I must apologize to you," Mycroft started, only to be interrupted.

"Not that again. Nah, you don't owe me anything." Even back as a human, Mycroft looked skittish, but Greg could calm him.

"Oh, I think I do," Mycroft continued. "I am unused to being looked after, and I shamefully do not know how to respond to care. I did not know what could happen, but you made sure my needs were met. You trusted me and showed me how to trust you. You made the best of a difficult situation, and the treatment you received in return was unforgivable." Mycroft paused but quickly, weighing the factors, made the decision to continue. "Might I take you to lunch? I would like to return home and change, but you make an excellent point, that we do have surprising things in common, an area I'd like to discuss and explore. With you."

Greg grinned, and it was as if the sun came out. "Sure, I'd like that. I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

"It's far from the same old story, though. I would have trouble, explaining to anyone who asked, how we came to know each other."

"Simple. We tell them your brother kept forcing us together. No one needs to know about the fur."

Mycroft actually laughed. "Such a way with words you have."

"Nah, that's your area. I'm the cuddly one."

"That you are." Mycroft looked down, unable to meet the warm brown eyes, given how warmly they were looking at him.

Greg had an idea. He clapped Mycroft on the shoulder. "Why don't you head back to your place, get cleaned up and comfortable, and I'll swing by with Chinese? I'd like the chopsticks, something that requires use of my hands. Bet you were missing them yesterday."

Mycroft stretched his hands, flexing and separating his long fingers. "You are right. What else should I know about post-transformation care?"

"That's about all I've found," nodded Greg. "Unless you've got itches. Need someone to scratch your back?" His hand dropped from Mycroft's shoulder to the middle of his spine, right where most people couldn't reach, and Mycroft arched into the touch, stretching his neck.

"Yes, please," Mycroft almost purred, eyes closing, as Greg began gently massaging the area with his fingertips.

Never mind the plan, thought Greg. He began pushing more firmly on Mycroft's back, aiming him towards the bedroom.

Mycroft looked at Greg. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to give you a back rub, if you'll take off that jacket and lie down."

Again with the blinking, but Mycroft came back more quickly this time, slowly learning to trust this stable, confident, caring man. "You have excellent ideas, Greg."

* * *

Greg had managed to get Mycroft down to shirt and trousers, carefully folding the rest of his suit to the side. Mycroft melted under his hands, lying prone on his bed as Greg gently worked over Mycroft's back and shoulders, sweeping the tension out of his muscles and getting him used to the feeling of a human form again. This was what their transformations had taught them: that they communicated well through touch, and they were a comfort to each other.

Mycroft had to say something before he could fully relax. He spoke into the pillow. "I would like us to continue our association, Greg, but I fear you will tire of waiting for me. I would prefer that we move slowly."

"So long as we're aimed in the right direction, Mycroft, that's just fine. We'll talk, we'll spend time together. No expectations here."

"Much appreciated. Particularly since I believe Sherlock will need to be carefully handled. But I do not wish to be selfish. You've already given much to me -- what do you need?"

"Trust me, Mycroft. Let me in. Be there for me. Be comfortable with me."

Mycroft laughed. "I am surprised to note that won't be an issue. If you continue this, I will fall asleep."

"Go ahead. You probably need to recover." Greg gave Mycroft's back one more stroke, then arranged himself at Mycroft's side, close but not clingy. "I'll join you." He wiggled a little, settling in. "Feels a little different without the fur. 's nice."

The two fell asleep together, cozy and easy, with pleasant expectations of days and weeks to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for not getting them more together together, but they just wanted to be cuddly and reassure each other.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you'd like to see how I view [Greg and Mycroft as dogs](https://johannadc.tumblr.com/post/620110558180573184/johannadc-johannadc-i-dont-know-why-i-found).


End file.
